


it's centrifugal motion, it's perpetual bliss

by boasamishipper



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010s, 2020s, DADT, DADT Repeal, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, kiss prompts, tags will be updated if necessary!, we're jumping all over the timeline with these two lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Kiss prompts from Tumblr. Iceman/Maverick.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Comments: 46
Kudos: 78





	1. 2009

**Author's Note:**

> Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

“Mav. Hey. Mav, wake up.”

“Mm. I’m awake.”

“Prove it.”

“Fuck you.” Maverick reaches up to rub at his eyes, stifling a yawn into his fist. Blinking blearily, Ice’s face swims into view above him, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ice says. He takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table next to the couch, and SR-71 crawls off Maverick’s back and into Ice’s lap, purring when he scratches her behind the ears. Maverick makes a mental note to apologize to their cat for intruding on her beauty sleep. “When’d you get back?”

“About…” Maverick turns over and props himself up on his elbows, squinting at the glare from his watch. “Uh, about an hour ago, I think. Flight finally got here around three.” He gestures vaguely. “I think I sent you a text.”

“Yeah, I got it. I wanted to wait up for you, but I fell asleep.” SR-71 nudges her head against Ice’s hand a couple times; he sets her down on the rug, and she stalks over to the armchair near the TV. “Why didn’t you come up?”

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Maverick says. Not to mention he’d been so exhausted from the two weeks of conferences in DC, the flight cancellation, the long wait in the airport, and the taxi ride home that all he’d had time to do was stumble to the couch before he fell asleep standing up. He sits up all the way, yawning again as he pulls his knees up to his chest. “SR-71 kept me company. Think she fell asleep on one of my kidneys.”

Ice snorts. “You stole her spot. She’s been sleeping on the couch for the last week.”

“Sorry,” Maverick says to SR-71, who doesn’t grace him with a response. “I’ll make it up to her.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Ice says, smiling slightly. “You hungry? I’ve got leftovers from dinner.”

“M’alright. I ate in the airport.”

“Do you want to go to bed or do you want to stay on the couch?”

A smile curves his mouth. “That a trick question, Kazansky?”

“Just come here already,” Ice says, and Maverick needs no further invitation.

He gets off the couch and settles on Ice’s lap, cupping Ice’s face in his hands, reveling in the feeling of Ice’s arms coming around him in turn, and kisses Ice with everything he has. His hands come up to run through Ice’s hair, and he melts into the familiar warmth of the kiss. “Missed you,” he mumbles against Ice’s mouth, which earns him a breathy laugh and another long, lingering kiss. Finally. “Next work trip, you’re coming with me. No excuses.”

“Whatever you say, Commander Mitchell.”

Ice tugs Maverick closer, and his left hand drifts to Maverick’s hip before coming up to cup Maverick’s cheek. Maverick can feel the coolness of the gold wedding band on Ice’s ring finger against his skin, and it makes his heart swell and his stomach swoop better than a hundred Immelmann turns. Maverick draws back and places his hand over Ice’s, smirking. “What happened to not wearing the ring to bed?”

Ice shrugs, and presses a kiss to Maverick’s lips, doing the same to his cheeks, to his chin, to the line of his jaw — then moving up to brush his lips painstakingly slowly and gently against Maverick’s nose, under his eyes, his earlobes. Maverick feels like he’s being barbecued over an open flame, and yet feels a familiar shiver go down his spine at the way Ice is looking at him. Like Maverick is all that Ice wants in the world. Like Maverick is Ice’s world, just as much as Ice is Maverick’s.

“Maybe,” Ice breathes, not taking his eyes off Maverick for even a moment, “it’s because I forgot.”

Maverick can’t resist. “Or?”

Ice’s grin takes whatever breath Maverick has left away. “Or maybe it’s because I missed you too.”

“I’m flattered,” Maverick says lightly, instead of something stupid like,  _ I love you so fucking much and I can’t wait until we can wear our rings in public so everyone knows you’re mine. _ “Good to know that I’m a catch.”

“Yeah, you are.” Ice nudges his nose against Maverick’s with another breathy, tired laugh. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Maverick agrees, and leans in for one more kiss, pressing their foreheads together. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”


	2. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

It’s a typical night at the Officers’ Club, but for once, Maverick’s not really feeling it. Goose is out with Carole and Bradley tonight, and Charlie had blown him off for one reason or another, and drinking or watching the others in his class trade jeers and jibes while playing darts and pool isn’t very fun when you’re doing it alone. Then again, when the alternative is going home and staring at the television or lying in bed trying to find patterns in the shadows on the ceiling, this is better than nothing.

At least it’s a distraction from the competition. Ice and Slider are ahead of him and Goose by only a point, and every time Ice raises his eyebrows at Maverick during preflight or smirks at him from across the room whenever Jester’s outlining the rules of the hop, Maverick wants to punch him right in his perfect teeth. He’ll be damned if he and Goose lose the plaque to a repressed tight-ass with frosted tips.

There’s some commotion on the other end of the room — Chipper’s yelling at Sundown about the game of darts they’d been playing — but Maverick doesn’t want to stick around to see how things shake out. He drops a twenty on the counter, pulls on his jacket, and heads out the door. It’s almost eleven o’clock; maybe by the time he gets home there’ll be some rerun playing on TV that he can fall asleep to, or maybe he can ride out to the spur of land by the jetty and watch the planes take off and land until the sun rises. He doesn’t kid himself into thinking about calling up Charlie; as he’s learned by now, she decides when she’s willing to put up with his presence, not the other way around.

Maverick is so lost in his thoughts as he turns a corner toward the parking lot that he doesn’t see the figure heading in the opposite direction, coming straight at him. He doesn’t realize he’s about to collide with whoever it is until he already has, and the impact is so unexpected that his full weight falls backward.

Strong hands seize him by the ribs, steadying him; at the same time, Maverick’s arms grasp the other person’s shoulders. Somehow they twist around mid-fall, his back hitting the side of the building as the other person stumbles forward with a rough grunt, and Maverick doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels his lips come up against something soft.

His eyes shoot open, only to be met with another pair — pale blue and utterly unreadable. He knows those eyes.

Oh  _ fuck _ .

Horrified, Maverick breaks the liplock he’d literally fallen into and stumbles out of the unexpected embrace. In front of him, Ice stares at him, his face closed off, impassive.

“Fuck,” Maverick says, because what the fuck else can he say? There’s no way he can salvage this. Everyone knows that kissing another guy, even on accident, is a thing that you don’t do. (Or in his case, a thing that you’re not supposed to do but have done before anyway.) Still. In the Navy, that could get you kicked out in a heartbeat. In civilian life, you could get beaten up for it.

And Maverick just accidentally laid one on Iceman fucking Kazansky.

He’s a dead man walking.

“Fuck,” he says again. Ice takes a slow, careful step forward and Maverick moves further back against the wall, dread pooling in his stomach and freezing his blood. “ _ Fuck _ — Ice, fuck, I didn’t — I didn’t mean to do that, I—”

Out of all the things he expects Ice to do to shut him up — break his nose, throttle him, remove him from the gene pool — grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing him again is not one of them.

In the split second it takes for everything to register, Maverick feels like his brain has shut down, entering a fugue state where reality has been temporarily suspended — like his life has been injected with a dreamlike, floating, unreal quality. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. He remembers feeling the same way after his first time riding his motorcycle, his first time climbing into the cockpit of a plane, soaring through the sky, his stomach in his throat, his body weightless, and the first time Goose and Carole let him hold baby Bradley in his arms, and again, recently, when he had inverted the Tomcat to flip off the MiG that had been tailing Cougar. A sort of radiant, untouchable feeling.

None of that is even close to the feeling of Ice’s mouth on his.

Ice kisses like he flies, all careful, practiced precision, like this is something he knows how to do inside and out, and Maverick returns the favor, deepening the kiss as it turns breathy and open-mouthed and so hot he can hardly stand it. One of Ice’s arms goes around Maverick’s waist to pull him right up against Ice, gripping the back of his jacket tight enough to tear the material, and Maverick grabs Ice’s face with both hands and pulls him down with enough force to knock their teeth together, because his driver’s license might say five foot eight but it’s closer to five foot six, and there’s a marked height difference. He thought the height difference would be more of a problem. And yeah, he’d thought about it before. In the seconds before his brain would clamp down on the fantasies, he’d thought about it. He’d thought about it a lot.

The kiss is fierce now, electric, hungry, and Maverick can’t get enough. Needs more, he needs more right now. He arches his neck up to meet Ice’s mouth again, hard enough to bruise, biting at Ice’s lower lip, sucking, and his knees go weak when Ice’s moan is muffled against his lips. There’s a strange pressure in his chest; he’s either having a heart attack or the opposite. Their chests are pressed together now, they’re so close Maverick can feel Ice’s heart beating through his clothes, can feel the heat coming off him in waves, and isn’t that funny, that the Iceman isn’t cold all the way down.  _ There’s a lot of things I’m learning about the Iceman tonight,  _ he thinks wildly, and then stops thinking entirely, because Ice is kissing him even more fiercely now and his tongue is making Maverick forget that up is up and down is down, and—

There’s a chorus of laughter close by, and the next thing Maverick knows, the kiss is cut off abruptly and he’s being shoved deeper into the shadows, behind one of the six or seven topiaries decorating the outside of the building. No officers, from what he can see; just a few civilians stumbling back to their cars.

A cool breeze rustles the leaves of the topiary, and, somewhere, Maverick finds the courage to look up at Ice, who’s adjusting the front of his shirt. The moonlight sliding through the leaves illuminates the sharp angles of his face, his pale blue eyes, his lips. He looks like something out of a dream, and Maverick — Christ, he’s hard, he’s actually hard. How long had it been since he’d gotten hard just kissing someone, just from making out in the dark like a teenager? How in the fuck—

“Next time, Mitchell,” Ice says, cool as can be, like they hadn’t just spent the last who knows how long making out with each other. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

The words  _ next time _ make his lungs constrict, but in a good way, somehow. “Like I mean it,” he repeats, imagining what he can do to make Ice lose his cool this time. Like he’s read Maverick’s mind, Ice reddens, and a grin spreads across Maverick’s face, unbidden. “You can count on it, Kazansky.”


	3. 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Jester’s been talking about retiring for the last three sessions or so, and when Viper calls the staff together in the lounge midway through the session and makes the formal announcement, Ice can’t say he’s all that surprised. He gets the feeling that Jester wanted a smaller affair, but his retirement party is thrown two days after graduation with all of the instructors and half of Jester’s family and friends in attendance.

By the time the sun starts to set, everyone’s migrated out of the house and into the backyard. The weather’s not too bad, and while the adults partake in drinks and cigarettes and trade stories of Jester’s early days at TOPGUN, the kids start a pick-up soccer game, kicking the ball around and shouting, their faces shiny with sweat. Ice isn’t good with kids and he’s even worse at soccer, so he waves off Jester’s son’s (either Jack or Jacob, he can’t remember which) invitation to join them. He’s fine watching.

Someone loops a hand through his arm, and when he turns his head he sees dark hair and a flash of teeth and for a split, panicky second he thinks it’s Maverick, but it turns out to be a woman he doesn’t know. Probably one of Jester’s relatives or friends. She’s probably around Ice’s age, maybe a little younger, with curly dark hair and green eyes and a flirty smile that makes him feel uneasy, off-balance.

He takes a sip of his beer and averts his eyes, hoping that will dissuade her, but to no avail. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s alright,” he says mildly. Then, to be polite, “Are you?”

“It’s not the most fun I’ve ever had on a Saturday night,” she says, which Ice agrees with, but then her grip on his arm tightens and she leans in, close enough that he could choke on the scent of her too-sweet perfume. “Luckily the company more than makes up for the atmosphere.”

Ice sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and scans the yard, praying for divine intervention or someone to engage him in extremely important conversation that requires him to be anywhere else. But everyone else is distracted, and Maverick is on the other side of the yard talking to Viper. 

“So.” Her fingers trace his arm, and he almost jumps straight out of his skin. “You work with my uncle, don’t you? Commander Heatherly?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What’s your name?”

Saying nothing would probably make her ask him more questions, and could be misconstrued as flirting. “Tom Kazansky.”

“Oh,” she says with a breathy sort of laugh. “My uncle’s told me about you. You’re the one that flies ice cold, no mistakes, aren’t you?”

Jesus, is that line going to follow him for the rest of his life? “That’s what they say.”

“They also say you’re on the market.”

Never in his life has Ice wanted to wear his engagement ring (which is currently looped through the strap of his watch since they’re in mixed company) so he can tell this woman — and everyone he knows — that he is happily taken, and very much off the market.  _ Note to self: tell Jester to take a long walk off a short pier for advertising me to all of his single relatives.  _ “Well, I’m sorry to say, ma’am, but they’re mistaken.”

Her grip on his arm loosens, and she pouts in a manner that’s probably meant to be alluring. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

A smile tugs at his mouth, unbidden. “Something like that.”

“Well,” she says, taking his beer out of his hand with a sly smile and taking a long sip from it. Her lipstick is bright red, plasticky-looking. “She’s not here, is she?”

Across the yard, over on the patio, Maverick is looking over at him, his brow furrowed, his jaw a hard line. His grip on his own bottle of beer is so tight that his knuckles have gone white. Viper’s saying something to Maverick in a low voice, probably,  _ Take it easy, Mitchell, use your head. _ “No.”

Immediately, Ice realizes his mistake — he’d meant it like  _ no, she is here, and actually she isn’t even a she,  _ but before he can cover up or take it back or just walk away, the girl on his arm grins like the Cheshire cat. “Well then,” she says, and takes another swig of his beer. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

And she releases his arm, leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him, full on the mouth.

There’s a loud shattering noise, and everyone in the backyard whirls around to try and spot the source of the commotion. Maverick’s standing on the patio, looking not at all apologetic for (evidently) knocking over the beer bottles that were perched at the edge of one of the tables. “Sorry,” he says unconvincingly to Jester’s wife, who’d cursed the loudest and is now scrambling around for a dustpan. “I’ll help.”

“I’ll help too,” Ice says, all too eager for the excuse to get the hell away from the girl beside him, who now looks all too pleased with herself. Unfortunately, she follows him to the pile of shattered glass strewn on the patio floor, and Maverick looks like he’d like nothing better than to shove her into the debris.

“Maverick, don’t touch that,” Viper says sharply, but Maverick is already cursing under his breath, quickly withdrawing his hand and cradling it to his stomach. Ice’s heart stutters for a second before he notices there isn’t any blood, that Maverick must be faking. “Christ. Kazansky, get him to a doctor, will you?”

“Yes sir,” Ice says at once, and takes Maverick by the elbow, helping him to his feet.

The girl escorts them to the gate, holding it open for them like they’re both invalids. “What’s your telephone number?” she says huskily, batting her eyelashes. “Maybe I can call you later.”

“867-5309,” Ice says, and hustles away before she figures out the scam — and before Maverick can kill her.

They’d driven to Jester’s house together — no point in going separately since they’d be returning to the same location — and the ride back to Ice’s house is silent bar the clicking of the turn signal. Maverick stares at his lap the whole time, flexing the hand that he’d pretended to injure, not looking at Ice at all.

Finally, Ice parks on his driveway and takes the key out of the ignition. Maverick still doesn’t say anything, so Ice figures he might as well. “You aren’t hurt, right?” 

Maverick shakes his head, a tight, tiny movement. His shoulders are stiff, his jaw set. His hands, still in his lap, have clenched into fists.

Ice frowns. “What’s with you?”

Maverick glances over at him, and Ice is taken aback by the darkness in his eyes, by the roughness of his voice when he finally speaks. “You’ve got her lipstick on your mouth.”

Ice automatically looks in the rear-view mirror to verify. Sure enough, his lips are redder than usual, and there’s a smudge of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but the smudge just smears instead of fading.

“Let me,” Maverick says. “Let me do it, Ice.”

Ice’s throat is suddenly too dry for words. Somehow, he manages to nod.

With slow, careful movements, Maverick turns in his seat, reaches over and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the remaining bit of lipstick off Ice’s mouth. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ice for even a second, and he lingers in Ice’s space even after he retracts his hand. Watching him. Waiting.

“Kiss me,” Ice whispers.

Maverick is on top of Ice before the words have even had time to settle, having somehow unbuckled and climbed over the center console in a second flat. His knees are bracketing Ice’s hips, and he takes Ice’s face in both hands and kisses Ice with everything he has, hard enough to bruise. Ice wraps an arm around Maverick’s back, pulling him so close that it feels like they’ve merged into one person, with one soul, one heart, and uses his other hand to yank at the lever on the side of the driver’s seat so they can have more room.

They fall all the way down, Maverick’s chin knocking into Ice’s, but Ice doesn’t care, just kisses Maverick back, threading his fingers through Maverick’s hair with his free hand and holding on tight. Ice bites at Maverick’s bottom lip before angling his head to mouth at Maverick’s neck, sucking at his favorite spot near Maverick’s pulse point, and he can’t help the moan that escapes him when Maverick fumbles with Ice’s belt and starts yanking up Ice’s shirt, touching every inch of skin he can reach, rocking in Ice’s lap.

“You’re mine, Kazansky,” Maverick growls, the words muffled by their lips and teeth and tongues. Ice is so hard he can barely think through the arousal pooling in his gut, through the fire burning through his veins, and arches his hips up, desperate for more friction. “You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re  _ mine.” _

“Goddamn right, baby,” Ice breathes, and anything else he wants to say is lost when Maverick presses their lips together again and starts rocking in his lap harder and faster, and seconds later (or maybe hours, or maybe days) Ice is riding out the pleasure of his orgasm while Maverick continues to ride him. Ice digs his fingers into Maverick’s back, wrinkling his shirt, and he feels the shudder and groan when Maverick comes, and Ice kisses him to taste the rest of the groan, to bring him back down to earth.

After a while — once Ice’s heart has returned to a normal rhythm and his blood has stopped pounding in his ears — Ice reaches around to run his fingers through Maverick’s hair, and Maverick leans into the touch, his eyes closed, completely sated and content. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Not gonna.”

“You better not.” Ice shifts under him, and Maverick moves back a little so Ice can prop himself up on his elbows. “So,” he says. “Nice diversion back there.”

Maverick flushes pink. “It was Viper’s idea.”

Ice snorts. “He didn’t like seeing that girl hanging on me?” Maverick averts his eyes, and Ice nudges Maverick’s nose with his own. “Mav.”

Maverick lets out a breath. “I just,” he says quietly, then gives up and starts again. “I didn’t like it. Seeing her with you. Not that I think you would’ve done anything about it, just…it’s hard, you know. Watching someone else get to…” He trails off. “You know.”

“What? Proposition me?”

Maverick shakes his head. “Get to be close to you like that when I can’t.”

Ice’s heart clenches. “Mav,” he whispers, and his throat goes tight when he sees Maverick’s eyes well up. They haven’t breached the subject of DADT much since it got passed a few days after Maverick proposed to him, and they tend to treat it — it being how much they can get away with at work and in public — almost like a game, full of meaningful glances and near touches. Still. It hurts like crazy every time Ice has to put his ring on his dog tags or loop it through his watch strap or hide it in his pocket, instead of wearing it on his finger where it belongs, and he can only imagine how much it hurts Maverick too. “Come here, baby.”

Maverick lays back down on top of Ice, resting his head in the hollow of Ice’s shoulder, and Ice holds him close. Feels the shaky intake of breath. “M’alright.”

“I know.”

“I just—”

“I know. Me too.”  Ice reaches around Maverick to unclasp his watch, sliding the ring off the strap and holding it out to Maverick. “Like you said,” he says. “I’m yours. And nothing is going to make me change my mind about being with you. Least of all one of Jester’s relatives.”

To his relief, that makes Maverick laugh. “Good to know.” Carefully, he places the ring back on Ice’s finger, and Ice feels the last ounces of his tension ebb away when Maverick smiles at him, genuinely this time. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maverick kisses him again, short and sweet, and when he draws back, his smile has faded into a smirk that takes Ice’s breath away. “So,” he says. “Want to go inside and finish what we started here?”

“Fuck yes,” Ice answers, grinning back. “Let’s go.”


	4. 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

“I love you.”

“That’s nice,” Ice says mildly. He can practically hear Maverick pout, and he bites back a smile of his own as he rejoins Maverick on the couch, brushing a couple of used tissues off the afghan. He puts his feet up on the coffee table, glancing over at Maverick before returning his attention to the TV. “Eat your soup.”

“I am,” Maverick says petulantly. The spoon clatters against the bowl with more force than Ice thinks is necessary. “You know, I’m feeling a lot better.”

“You’ve had the flu for the last three days. You still have a fever.”

“I’m better than I was at graduation,” Maverick argues, and Ice has to agree. Maverick had barely managed to stand upright during the ceremony, and then he’d spent the rest of the evening in Ice’s bed, sweaty and pale and shivering under a pile of blankets. “When will you let me kiss you again?”

“When your fever goes down,” Ice says with a trace of impatience. “I don't want us both to get sick, Mav.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“You almost set the stove on fire the last time you tried making chicken soup.”

“I’ll order takeout for you.”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.” Guilt tugs at him when he sees Maverick frown, and he reaches over to take Maverick’s hand. “Just another day or two,” he says quietly. “Let me take care of you in the meantime, okay?”

The fight leaves Maverick with a sigh. “Okay,” he says, squeezing Ice’s hand once to show he’s not really angry before redirecting his attention to the bowl of soup in his lap. “Probably couldn’t make soup this good, anyway.”

The corner of Ice’s mouth quirks upward. “Family recipe,” he says by way of explanation, and Maverick hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll teach you, sometime.”

Maverick glances over at him, a small, pleased smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ice says. His grandmother always used to say that Ice and his sister shouldn’t give out her old recipes to people who weren’t family or couldn’t be trusted —  _ we don't want these falling into the wrong hands,  _ she’d say with a wink before pinching his cheek, and then he’d groan away from her comments about his  _ shayna punim _ and how fast he was growing up — but in Maverick’s case, he doesn’t think she’d mind. It’s only been six months since they shifted from being friends with benefits to being together for real, but Ice can already see Maverick sticking around for a while — and surprisingly, the prospect doesn’t scare him. In fact, he likes the idea of it a lot.

Ice doesn’t mean to fall asleep in front of the TV, but the next thing he knows, he’s on his back with his head on the sofa arm and blearily blinking his way back into awareness. From what he can see, the  _ Jeopardy _ episode they’d been watching had ended, and now the screen is filled with images of wheat swaying rhythmically in the breeze, accompanied by someone talking about Hessian fly. Christ. No wonder he passed out. Ice makes to sit up, but there’s a weight on his chest that turns out to be Maverick, afghan draped over him, dead to the world.

A soft, stupid smile breaks free, unbidden, as Ice uses his free hand to stroke Maverick’s hair, careful not to wake him. The skin at Maverick’s temple is soft and a little damp, and the back of his neck is flushed and warm, but not as warm as Ice had been expecting. Had his fever broken? He moves to kiss Maverick on the forehead to check, but Ice’s lips have barely brushed skin when Maverick suddenly raises his head, and Ice meets Maverick’s lips completely on accident. And despite all of his protests over the last few days, he lingers.

Maverick breaks away first, his eyes wide with alarm. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.”

“I…” Maverick falters. “Really?”

Ice has barely nodded when Maverick leans in again, tentative, and Ice meets him halfway. The kiss is languid, slow and sweet, clumsy at first until they find their rhythm. It’s hotter than their kisses usually are — not in  _ that _ way, since Maverick’s good at making Ice’s world go off-kilter, but in the sense that Maverick is flushed and sweaty from the remains of the flu and his lips are hot and dry and Ice doesn’t even care. He drinks Maverick in, all of him, embracing him the best he can, and Maverick mumbles against Ice’s mouth, “Missed this.” He kisses Ice next to his mouth, then his cheek, then his chin, like he can’t remember where to go. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Ice whispers, and kisses him again.

(Ice wakes up with a cough the next day. He doesn’t really mind.)


	5. 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

The call comes in the middle of dinner, and ten seconds in, Maverick is glad he decided to go out on the porch to answer it. The woman on the other end is politely friendly and keeps things short and to the point, and tells him everything he needs to know and has to do from here on out. Still, when he finally hangs up, he feels more dread than he had upon answering.

He goes back in the house quietly and returns to the kitchen, where Ice has his reading glasses on and is checking something on his phone. SR-71 twitches her tail in greeting; the MiGs pay him no mind from their vantage point on top of the play structure. Ice notices his presence a second later and puts his phone away, giving Maverick a smile and all his attention. Maverick’s smile falls a little short. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Ice’s smile fades, and he gets to his feet. “Everything alright?”

Maverick bites his lip.  _ Fuck, how am I going to tell him?  _ “Kind of.”

Ice just looks more worried now. “What does that mean?” he says. “Who was on the phone?”

“Uh…” Maverick palms the back of his neck and tries to keep his gaze steady.  _ Rip off the Band-Aid, Mitchell.  _ “The lady from the O-6 selection board.”

Ice goes still. “And?”

“I’m…I’m going to be a captain.”

The words land. Maverick braces himself for the fallout, but instead, Ice starts to smile. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Ice’s smile grows until it threatens to split his face in two. “Holy shit,” he says. “Mav, that’s fantastic!”

A matching grin spreads across Maverick’s face. “I’m going to be a captain.”

“You’re going to be a captain!”

Laughing, Maverick rushes toward his husband, who throws his arms around him and lifts him off the ground, spinning him around and laughing too. MiG-25 and MiG-21 seem to think that this means they’re allowed to celebrate too, because they start meowing loudly from the play structure, which makes Maverick laugh even harder.

“Captain Maverick Mitchell,” Ice says, finally setting him back down. Their arms are still around each other, and Ice is smiling with every part of his face. “I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.” Maverick feels some of his earlier trepidation return. “You’re not…mad that I’m getting promoted before you?”

Ice blinks, startled. “No,” he says. “Why would I be mad?”

“We were up for promotion at the same time, and…” Embarrassed, Maverick ducks his head. “I know how much your career means to you, Ice.”

“Hey,” Ice says. He touches Maverick’s face. “Look at me.”

Maverick looks at him.

“You mean more to me than my career, Mav,” Ice says. “I’m fifty-four. I’ve got plenty of time to get up before the board again, and even if I don’t — even if I retire a commander — that doesn’t make me  _ any _ less fucking proud of you for what you’ve accomplished.”

Maverick ducks his head again, just for a second; this time to hide the wet warmth flooding the corners of his eyes. “You’ll get your chance too,” he promises. “Then we’ll be captains together.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Ice says. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

Maverick has to kiss him for that. It’s the law. And he makes a production out of it too — as smooth of one as he can manage now that his guilt and dread have been replaced by excitement. He throws his arms around Ice’s neck and kisses him, right on his perfect mouth. Ice’s hand comes up to run through Maverick’s hair, his grip tightening when Maverick nips at Ice’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“So,” Ice murmurs into Maverick’s mouth as the kiss goes sloppier and suggestive, more tongue and less teeth. Definitely not rated safe for the kittens in the room. “I think we should call it a night and celebrate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ice says. His voice drops, going lower and smoother. His hands drop too, tracing their way down Maverick’s back to the curve of his ass. “So. Is there anything I can do for you,  _ Captain?” _

Maverick hums, pretending to think about it even while he already knows  _ exactly  _ what he wants from his husband. “You can take your clothes off and report to our bedroom, Commander.”

Ice smirks. “I think that can be arranged.”


	6. 2003

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

Ten years ago today, Maverick proposed to Ice and Ice said yes. But to the rest of the world, it’s just the Friday before Christmas — and as a result, it’s a hell of a lot harder to find a time and place to celebrate their anniversary. Restaurants are booked days in advance, and paperwork for the end of the session and the upcoming New Year keeps them late at base every night. But Maverick and Ice are nothing if not resilient, so Maverick finds a nice place in Reno that accepts reservations and Ice gets their paperwork done and charms Captain McCabe into letting them leave early the night of the 19th. 

The food is excellent, the restaurant thrumming with activity — full of people who don’t pay them any mind when Maverick takes Ice’s hand under the table, or when Ice smiles and whispers, “Happy anniversary, Mav,” after they clink their glasses together, his ring glittering in the light of the candle on the table. 

A light snow is falling by the time they leave, dusting the sidewalk and Ice’s car. They don’t talk much on the way back to Fallon; Maverick had more to drink, and he dozes off a little, his head resting against the window. He misses living in Miramar, but it’s nice to see snow again on the holidays. Especially now that he has holidays worth celebrating, and loved ones to celebrate them with.

It’s almost midnight when they finally get home, and Maverick drops on the couch once he kicks off his shoes and puts his jacket away. (Living with Ice for so long has ingrained a few habits in him.) Ice hangs up his coat and heads over to him; the collar of his sports coat is a little wrinkled. Maverick would reach out and fix it if he weren’t so tired — but anyway, he likes Ice when he looks all rumpled and not perfectly put together. (Especially when Maverick is the one to make Ice look not perfectly put together.)

Maverick yawns, rubs his eyes. When he opens them again, Ice is kneeling in front of him, holding out a ring.

“Jesus,” Maverick whispers. His laugh comes out like a croak. There are tears in his eyes already. “Jesus, Ice. Talk about warning a guy.”

Ice grins. “I wanted to do it at the restaurant,” he says, wry. “But I figured it wasn’t the time or place.”

“Probably not,” Maverick wants to say back, but one look at the ring in Ice’s hands and he gets so breathless that he can’t say anything at all.

“Ten years ago,” Ice says quietly. “You asked me to marry you. And a week later, we found out we couldn’t. Not yet. That we had to wait.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know how much longer ‘not yet’ is going to be. But I love you, and I want to wait with you, for that day, as long as it takes.” He takes Maverick’s hand. “Will you wait with me, Mav?”

In answer, Maverick flings himself into Ice’s arms; Ice sits down hard on the rug, narrowly avoiding the coffee table, and Maverick kneels between his legs and kisses him over and over again. Ice’s hands are trapped between both of their chests, and Maverick can feel Ice’s smile grow as Maverick kisses him all over his stupidly wonderful face. Wild, sporadic, no rhyme or reason.

“Hang on,” Ice says, breathless and laughing. He pushes Maverick off him gently, and Maverick lets him. He’s fine with just taking in every detail of Ice’s face. He plans on doing that every day for the rest of his life, and then some. “Is that a yes or what, Mitchell?”

Maverick’s laugh is breathless too. “Yes,” he says. “It’s a yes. Put it on me already, Kazansky.”

“Kinky,” Ice says, but he obliges. Carefully, he slides the ring onto the fourth finger of Maverick’s left hand. It’s a golden wedding band, just like the one Maverick gave Ice ten years ago. And just like that one, it’s a perfect fit.

Ice brings Maverick’s hand to his mouth and kisses his palm. In return, Maverick leans close, rests his forehead against Ice’s. “Ten years is a pretty long time to wait,” he says lightly, even though his heart is so full of love for the man before him that he might explode from the pressure of it. “Sure you can handle being stuck with me for another ten?”

Ice laughs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	7. 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it. (Outsider POV.)

It’s the first Monday of the month, and Jenny knows when she sees Captain Mitchell disappear into the main conference room that it’ll be the last time she sees him until lunch, and then not until almost six. Mitchell tends to spend every second of the time he spends at his desk staring wistfully out the window, counting the time until he can go back in the air again, so Jenny knows by now that a full day of flying lost has to be some kind of torture. (She sneaks him reports on the kids from Commander Parker during meeting breaks; aside from sneaking him a Hornet to take a spin in, it’s all she can do.)

Some of the officers she’s worked for over the years barely gave her a second glance or spared the energy to remember her name, but Captain Mitchell’s different. He knows her name, her husband’s name, the name of their dog and two children and the grandbaby on the way, and on the day of her first anniversary working as his secretary, there was a clumsily wrapped bouquet of dahlias waiting for her on her desk. Jenny never understood why he didn’t make a move on her like everybody else until she saw him kiss then-Commander Kazansky through the crack in the blinds on his office window, and even then, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Rumors fly faster than the planes around here, and it sure explained the matching rings they wore around their dog tags better than any of the other theories floating around the secretarial pool. 

The elevator dings, and Jenny looks up from her computer just in time to see a row of men in scarily-neat uniforms and shiny shoes enter the main conference room, talking in hushed whispers like they’re afraid she’ll post important military secrets all over Facebook once she gets the chance. The last one doesn’t close the door behind him, so for a while she watches the round of  _ It’s an honor  _ and  _ Thank you for coming all this way _ and smiles mixed with too-tight handshakes, trying not to roll her eyes. She thought nothing could beat the Midwestern politeness she’d been raised on, but this is on a whole ‘nother level.  _ They must suck the souls out of those Pentagon men with a high-strength vacuum the second they set foot in DC.  _

“Morning, Jenny,” says Captain Kazansky, and Jenny keeps her cool only from years of practice. Sometimes she honestly considers suggesting to her boss that he put a bell on his husband, if only so she doesn’t get a heart attack before she’s fifty.

“Morning, sir,” she says, smiling. “Surprised Captain Mitchell beat you here.”

“I drew the short straw on taking our cats to the vet,” Captain Kazansky says, brushing a stray black cat hair off his sleeve. “Which means I’ll be getting the silent treatment for three days when I go pick them up this afternoon.” He hefts the folders he’s carrying a little higher. “Everybody’s in there already?”

“Yes sir,” she confirms, knowing exactly who he’s really asking about. “Have fun.”

Captain Kazansky gives her a salute before strolling into the room, which prompts yet another round of everybody standing up and exchanging too-polite hellos and wrist-breaking handshakes. Jenny watches him set the folders down at his spot next to his husband, and then, just before he sits down, he leans in to give Captain Mitchell a quick kiss — chaste, barely-there, just at the corner of Captain Mitchell’s mouth. Captain Mitchell smiles at him, soft and content the way he usually isn’t in the mornings, and Captain Kazansky sends him a soft smile right back before sitting down and launching into the meeting like none of that ever happened. If either of the captains notice that the brass’s smiles are a little tight, they don’t comment.

Jenny rises to close the door to the conference room, and smiles to herself just a little bit for the rest of the day.


	8. 1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them. (Rated M.)

It’s not that Ice _doesn’t_ have an imagination, or that he’s nothing but ice cold logic and reasoning all the way down. When he was a kid, he used to love playing pretend with his sister and her friends, pretending to be the prince locked away in the tower that they had to rescue, or helping them fight the evil dragon (his dog, B-52, wearing a green cape) with swords made of sticks. Even now, he loves getting lost in a good book as much as anyone else, and enjoys imagining himself among his favorite characters, imagining the _what-ifs_ and _what-could-have-beens._

But imagining things goes hand in hand with hope, and having too much hope is dangerous sometimes. It makes you see things that aren’t there, read too much into what you hear. By now, he’s learned that being an ice cold bastard is better for his heart than daring to hope for what can never happen. The letdown is always inevitable.

Maverick is under him now, his legs wrapped around Ice’s hips, one hand threaded tight through Ice’s hair and the other on Ice’s shoulder. He looks downright obscene when they’re doing this sometimes — though maybe Ice isn’t the best person to judge, seeing as he thinks Maverick looks obscene when he’s doing something as simple as his paperwork, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth — and now is no exception; he’s flushed, his hair a mess, his eyes dark with lust. _Beautiful,_ Ice thinks, and then chases the thought away by mouthing at Maverick’s neck, earning a barely-there gasp when he bites down just over his pulse point — gentle, gently. For now, anyway.

“K’zansky,” Maverick groans, “c’mon.” He arches his hips up, trying to rock up, trying to get some friction, and practically mewls when Ice doesn’t let him. Ice can feel the hot weight of Maverick’s arousal, the wetness seeping through the denim that’s pressed up against him; his own pants are achingly tight. He should get them off already, get Maverick’s off too, get Maverick off, and yet… _“C’mon,_ Ice. Just do it already.”

Ice hums, and indulges himself in pressing a soft kiss just under Maverick’s ear. “I don’t know,” he breathes, because being an arrogant bastard is always easier. It’s always been rough with him and Maverick since they started doing this — _this,_ sleeping together, fucking, going to bed together and waking up alone — rough and quick, and he wants to take his time with Maverick, really unravel him, but Maverick’s not interested in that. He’s not interested in being with Ice either, not for real, but for now, Ice can ignore the pang of hurt that thought brings. “I don’t think you really want it.”

“What do — _fuck,_ c’mon,” Maverick hisses, as Ice finally rolls his hips, granting Maverick the friction he’d asked for for the briefest of seconds before pulling back again. “Fuck, Kazansky, what do I have to do, write you a letter of intent?”

Ice snorts, and pulls back in time to see the hint of a pleased smile on Maverick’s mouth, the faint blush painting his cheeks when Ice looks at him. “Maybe,” he says, and leans in to kiss him. Takes Maverick’s lower lip into his mouth, presses his teeth into it, and then goes deeper. Runs the tip of his tongue along the edge of Maverick’s teeth, leaning in, mapping out his mouth, mapping out all of him. Not like Ice doesn’t already know most of Maverick inside and out, especially in the biblical sense, but this…it grounds him, a little. Reminds him where they stand. Ice can map Maverick Mitchell out in his head, think of him, kiss him, fuck him, but can never have him all. Not the way he wants to.

Maverick’s fingers dig into Ice’s head, and Ice draws back again, kissing him close-mouthed, soft and careful.

“Ice,” Maverick whispers against Ice’s mouth, like he’s dying, “Jesus, you’re so hot, so good, I—” but then he shuts up, like he’s embarrassed, like he’s said too much. He’s done that before, said things like that to Ice, things he doesn’t really mean, and it makes Ice think about how Maverick’s compliments tend to be double-edged, how they practically come gift-wrapped with unspoken references to Maverick’s own perceived inadequacies. How Maverick seems like he doesn’t like himself at times, which bothers Ice on a deep, visceral level. It makes Ice want to fix that, in any way he can. “Come on. Just do it already, come on. Please.”

So Ice unbuttons Maverick’s jeans one-handed, keeps the other on Maverick’s face, keeping his eyes on him. Slides his jeans and boxers down, slides his hand in there too, running his fingertips along the shaft of his cock, teasing the head, watching Maverick shudder and his eyes squeeze shut. Lowers his mouth to Maverick’s cock, relaxing his throat to take all of him in, and when Maverick’s hands tighten in Ice’s hair, when he whispers Ice’s name like that, desperate, Ice closes his eyes, and lets himself imagine that maybe, possibly, Maverick could like him back.


	9. 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

“Fucking idiot,” Ice says, and Maverick opens his eyes. “No,  _ don’t  _ move. Do not move. Do not speak.”

“Can I breathe?” Maverick asks, but the words come out as a low groan, and he’s not entirely sure that Ice can understand him. He blinks until he can focus on Ice’s face hovering over him. “What happened?”

“I told you not to talk,” Ice says, but his tone is sharp with what Maverick knows is worry, not just irritation. “Stay still. You fell off the fucking ladder. Christ, I  _ told  _ you not to put it over there, Mitchell; you know the ground is uneven in the backyard.”

Maverick frowns. “I fell off the ladder?”

The furrow between Ice’s brows creases even more. Maverick wants to sit up and kiss him there; he would, if Ice hadn’t told him to stay still. “Yes,” Ice bites out, not unkindly. “You were cleaning the gutters. How the hell did you fall off? Was it the ground or did you try to get off it backwards again?”

“Beats me,” Maverick mumbles, even though it’s all starting to come back to him now. He’d tried to move the ladder while he was standing on it, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground. His back and head are killing him; luckily he can still move his fingers and toes. “That’s the last time I do anything nice for you, Kazansky.”

“You can still do nice things for me on the ground,” Ice says. His eyes cast around, and he curses. “Ambulance should be here any minute. Just stay awake, alright?  _ Don’t move,” _ he adds, warningly, as Maverick makes to sit up. “The paramedics will move you when they get here.”

“You called an ambulance?”

Ice rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to leave you out on my lawn for the rest of the day.” He touches Maverick’s cheek, and Maverick leans into his hand, trying to soothe Ice the best he can without moving. “Jesus, Mitchell, what am I going to do with you.”

“Marry me?” Maverick offers, even though it hadn’t been a question. That gets a laugh; Maverick smiles up at Ice as Ice ducks his head and fiddles with the ring on his left hand. It’s always nice to see that ring where it belongs. 

“Idiot,” Ice says again, firmer, but his smile softens the word a little. He brushes his hand over Maverick’s forehead, running his fingers through Maverick’s hair. “Your head okay?”

“Just a headache.” Ice shifts to the right, and the afternoon sun shines right in Maverick’s eyes; he winces and squeezes his eyes shut. “M’fine.”

“Fuck.” Concerned, Ice leans close, tapping Maverick’s face gently. Maverick opens one eye and shuts it again. “I think you might have a concussion.”

“Better than breaking every bone in my body.”

“Let’s settle for neither next time.” Maverick hears the faint wailing of a siren in the distance, and the tension fades from Ice’s face. “Fucking finally. Hang on, Mav, I’ll be right back—”

Maverick’s hand shoots out before he can stop it, latching onto Ice’s wrist. “Wait,” he says, fighting back the stab of irrational panic exploding through him. “Don’t.”  _ Don’t leave me here alone. _

Ice’s expression softens, and he raises Maverick’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand. “Alright,” he says, quiet. “Just for a minute, okay?”

Maverick breathes out, relieved. “Okay.”

Ice leans in to kiss him properly, just for a second, just as the ambulance comes to a screeching halt in the driveway. “You’ll be okay, Mitchell,” he says, quiet but firm, like Maverick doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and Maverick grins.

“Sir, yes sir.”


	10. 2002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

_ “I miss you.” _

Ice rolls over onto his stomach, trying not to smile even though he knows Maverick can’t see him over the phone. Forty-two years old and Maverick still makes him feel like a teenager with a crush. “I’m in the room right above you, Mitchell.”

_ “Maybe I’m lonely,” _ Maverick says. Ice imagines the smirk curving his mouth and wants to kiss it away.  _ “I haven’t seen you since we all left the hotel bar.” _

“That was half an hour ago, Mav.”

_ “What’s your point?” _

Ice snorts. “Fair enough.”

There’s silence on the other end for a while, and Ice listens to Maverick’s breathing. While their work has often taken them across the country, this is the first time they’ve been summoned to DC at the same time — and even though Ice is glad Maverick is with him, he wishes they could treat this like a real vacation. That they could see the sights instead of being stuck in endless conferences, sitting apart from each other. That he could wear his ring, hold Maverick’s hand. Sleep in the same bed as him.

Like he read Ice’s mind, Maverick says,  _ “What if I came over for a while?” _

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ice says, even though he desperately wants to say yes. “We’ve got meetings in the morning.” He looks over at the clock on the nightstand, fiddling with the cord of the hotel phone. “Wake-up call is seven hours from now. We should get some sleep.”

_ “I sleep better when I’m with you.” _

Ice sighs. “Yeah,” he says, soft. “Me too. But we can’t. You know that.”

_ “I know.”  _ He hears Maverick sigh too. Then:  _ “What if I came over for a little and just promised not to touch you?” _

Ice laughs. “Well, now I’ve got no incentive to let you in.”

He imagines Maverick smiling.  _ “What if I can touch you and you just can’t touch me back? No temptation.” _

“You think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you if you come over?”

Now he’s sure that Maverick is pouting.  _ “You haven’t had your hands on me since we got here.” _

“I’ve had nothing but touching you on my mind since we got off the plane.”

_ “I want to live in your mind.” _

Ice ducks his head, blushing; this time he’s grateful that Maverick can’t see him. He bites his lip to curb the stupid smile spreading across his face, and weighs the pros and cons, like he hasn’t already made up his mind. Like Maverick didn’t convince him the second he called Ice’s room and asked in his most serious voice for  _ the hot blond I saw at the bar having a bourbon on the rocks.  _ “Think you can be quiet?”

_ “I won’t even breathe if you don’t want me to.” _

Ice lets his smile go free. “How soon can you be up here?”

_ “I’m already on my way.” _

* * *

Ice rolls over before the ringing even really registers, and bumps into something soft and warm — someone, not something. Maverick groans; his nose knocks into Ice’s cheek just as Ice’s mouth lands on his chin, and Maverick puts an arm around him, tugging him closer. “Ice,” he mumbles, “c’mere,” and finally, their mouths meet. Maverick’s lips are soft from sleep, already parted, and Ice brings his hand up to Maverick’s hair, petting him the best he can with Maverick latched onto him. Not that he minds, not at all. God, he’d missed waking up like this.

“Mm. Mav.” Ice breaks the kiss, but Maverick follows, nuzzling Ice’s neck. “Baby. Hey.”

“What.”

“Phone. Gotta answer the phone. Get off for a second.” Maverick releases him, and Ice reaches over him, grabbing the phone with one hand and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the other. “Kazansky.”

_ “Good morning. The time is six-oh-one a.m., Eastern Time. Today’s weather forecast calls for partly sunny skies, breezy, with a high temperature of 52 degrees. Thank you for choosing the Four Seasons Hotel.” _

“Thanks,” Ice says into the phone, even though it’s an automated message, and places it back in the cradle. Sighing, he leans back against the pillows, running his hands through his hair. Maverick cuddles up to him, but he’s blinking himself awake now too. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Maverick looks up at him, smiling even though he looks as miserable as he always does in the morning. “What time is it?”

“Little after six. You should probably get going.”

“Getting rid of me already, Kazansky?” Maverick yawns. “I should’ve known you only liked me for my body.”

Ice rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, and kisses him again, and then again, and — alright, fine, one more time, but only because Maverick is pouting. “You better get back to your room before people start coming out. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll get your coffee,” Maverick says, as has been their routine for the last few days. He climbs out of bed and sits on the edge of it, pulling his clothes back on. Once he looks mostly in order, he heads to the door, looks through the peephole, and then turns to blow Ice a kiss. “Love you. See you downstairs.”

“Love you too.”


End file.
